by T. J. Klune
“He can try,” Cal snaps. “I can make it so he goes away. I could do it if I really wanted to. Send him to the black. Send him in deep.”
“You are not judgment,” I whisper harshly, throwing his words back at him. “You are not jury. And you are not the executioner. You are the protector.” I breathe a sigh of relief as the blue lights begin to fade, as the fire begins to die in his eyes.
“I am the protector,” he says to me. He reaches up with one big hand and places it over mine still holding his face. “Benji, I am the protector.”
“You are. But you need to let me handle this, okay? I need you to trust me. Can you do that? For me?”
He nods as the blue lights disappear. There’s a knock at the door.
“Stay here,” I tell him as he looks at me like that is the stupidest idea he’s ever heard. I’m not surprised to hear him follow me as I walk to the front door. He pauses in the entryway to the kitchen and I almost snort with laughter as he puffs himself up, trying to look as big as possible. He scowls at me.
I open the door, blocking Cal from view, leaving the screen door between us. “Sheriff,” I say, keeping my voice light. “Two times in two days. Beginning to think you’re stalking me.”
“Benji,” he drawls. “Stopped by the store to speak with you. Was surprised when Christie told me you had the day off. Good for you. Late night last night?”
“No later than usual,” I say evenly.
“How about you open the screen so we can talk?”
“Aren’t we talking fine the way it is?”
“Benji,” Sheriff Griggs says, shaking his head as if he’s disappointed. “There’s no need to have an attitude. You know I’m an old friend of the family. I’ve known you since you were born. Hell, I knew Big Eddie since we were both four years old. Thick as thieves, we were.”
“Funny, that,” I say, my voice hardening. “Especially since my father’s not here to say otherwise. I guess I’ll just have to take your word on it, huh?”
He changes tact suddenly. “What were you doing out near seventy-seven last night, Benji?”
He’s trying to catch me off guard. “I never said I was out there.”
He narrows his eyes. “Mayor Walken swears he saw your truck hightailing back toward town on the old highway.”
Dammit. I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy to have gotten back unseen. “Does he? And what was our illustrious mayor doing out there so late?”
“Surely you’ve heard by now,” he scoffs. “Lord knows this town is full of busybodies who have nothing better to do than talk.”
“Slept in this morning, Sheriff. First day off in long time, remember? I just got up. No one has told me anything.”
He’s watching me, looking for deception. I stare right back, unwavering. I might not know what the hell I’m doing and I might believe this man to be the ultimate liar, but he’s still only Griggs and he doesn’t intimidate me in the slightest. “A light,” he finally says. “Fell out of the sky.”
Calliel finally breaks, emitting a low growl that causes me to shiver. Oh crap, I have time to think before the door is ripped open the rest of the way. He maneuvers himself so that he’s put himself slightly ahead of me. I should be annoyed at this (and maybe I am, a little) but it’s almost worth it to see the look of surprise on Griggs’s face as he takes a step back at the sight of the big guy before him. Cal is scowling at the sheriff and still growling, the rumbling in his throat getting louder.
Griggs recovers from his surprise and stands upright again, imposing but still shorter than Cal by an inch or two. Cal is obviously not impressed with the man before him. I elbow him sharply, keeping my eyes on the sheriff. Cal ceases his rumbling and throws a glare my way before looking back at Griggs.
“And you are?” Griggs asks curiously. I don’t miss the way he raises his hand subtly to his side, flicking off the leather strap to the holster that houses his service pistol. I try to push my way back up in front of Cal, but he raises a big hand and presses me back, trying to force me behind him completely.
“I am Calliel,” he says flatly. “Benji is my friend. Your tone is not appreciated, Griggs.”
The Sheriff looks bemused. “Christie mentioned Benji had a new… friend,” he says snidely. “Cal Blue, was it? From California?”
Goddammit, Christie. Keep your fucking mouth shut for once!
“Whereabouts in California you from, Cal? Or is it Calliel?”
“Not your concern,” Cal says, starting to growl again.
“He’s just visiting,” I say, pushing past him again. “He’s a friend from out of town. Not that it’s really any of your business, Sheriff.”
“So he was the one driving the Ford last night, I take it?” Griggs asks, already knowing the answer. “I had wondered why the mayor sounded confused. To tell you the truth, it scared him out of his mind a bit.” The sheriff chuckles, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “Says he thought it was Big Eddie driving the Ford again, coming out of the dark like a bat out of hell. Isn’t that something?”
Cal tenses next to me, and I bend my arm behind my back, grab his hand, and squeeze. The growling subsides and he squeezes back. We say nothing.
“Where you boys coming from last night?”
“Just a drive,” I say.
“That so,” he says, rubbing his jaw. “And you didn’t see any lights?”
“Oh sure,” I say. “I saw plenty. It’s called lightning. Quite the storm last night, right, Cal?
“Quite the storm,” Cal repeats.
“Well,” the sheriff says, “whatever hit the ground caused quite a show! I saw it from all the way in town, so I’m a bit surprised you boys didn’t see it. You know, just driving around in the dark.” He spits off the side of the porch. “Made quite the racket when it landed too. Blew the hell out of the ground, knocked down a bunch of trees.” He looks me in the eye and says, “Right about where your daddy died, Benji. Just yards away.”
I’m about to launch myself through the door, but Cal tightens his grip on my hand to the point where I’m sure my bones are going to snap, the pain clearing the fog of fury that has settled around my mind like a gray haze. It’s what the sheriff wants, I know. He wants to get under my skin, to cause me to lose control, to lash out and give him just cause to arrest me. He wants something from me, but I don’t know what.
But Cal holds me back, the tightness of his grip telling me if I won’t let him lose it, then the same goes for me. The sheriff sees his hand on me, the glare on Cal’s face. Griggs’s gaze darts back and forth between the two of us. A small smile forms on his face as he takes a step back. “Cal Blue,” he says slowly. “Cal Blue from California. I’ll have to keep that in mind. Well, since you boys obviously didn’t see anything last night, I best be on my way.” He raises his hand and tips his hat toward me. “Benji, as always, it’s been a real pleasure. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon. Maybe I’ll stop by the store.” It comes out like the threat he means it as, and a chill floats down my spine. He turns and walks down the steps.
“Agent Corwin,” I suddenly say.
He stops, but doesn’t turn. “How’s that now?” he says, his voice soft.
“An Agent Corwin stopped by the store yesterday,” I say. “Said he was with the FBI. Asked about my dad. Wanted to know how long he’d been dead.” I pause for effect. “Asked about you too. Seemed surprised you were still the sheriff. Told me to call him if I thought of anything interesting. Town gossip, you know. Spreads like wildfire.”
The sheriff leans over to spit again and I can see the sweat on his brow. He takes another step toward his car, running his fingers over the Ford. “Man, Benji,” he says, his voice light. “I sure do hope you know what you’re doing. I’d certainly hate to see something happen to you. Or to your ma. Or the Trio. Nina’s so trusting, isn’t she? She most certainly is. Why, I bet she’d get in a police car if she was asked. Such a sweet, sweet lady.” He taps the hood of the Ford, the ring on h
is thumb scratching against the paint.
“If you touch her,” Cal says quietly, “I will take you and yours into the black. If you touch any of them, darkness is all you will see.”
The sheriff laughs. “Well, how about that!” he says, slapping his knee. “Boy, you wouldn’t be threatening a county sheriff, would you?”
“The black,” Cal promises him, shutting the door slowly. He turns back to me and I have to fight myself from taking a step away.
a meeting of the minds
Most people don’t realize that being hunted is just one step away from being
haunted. It’s this thought I have when I wake in the dark, struggling to catch my breath. I sit up in the bed and look at the clock. Just after midnight. I shake my head, trying to clear the dream away. But something feels different. Off.
After the sheriff left, it had taken a while to calm Cal down. I could tell he was just one word away from bursting through the door and hunting down Griggs to tear him apart piece by piece. His dark eyes had grown darker, and he ground his teeth together. He clenched and unclenched his hands repeatedly.
I was unsure what to do, as he ignored my entreaties to move away from the door, to stop glaring out the window. Griggs was long gone, I told him, and besides, didn’t he want to go back to the kitchen and have more Lucky Charms? I picked out all the green marshmallows for him. He ignored me.
And since I didn’t know what else to do, I just stood near him, hoping my presence would be enough to calm him. There was a tentative moment when I touched his back through the old white shirt he’d found in a drawer that pulled tight across his shoulders. He said nothing and I began to rub my hand in a slow circle at the base of his spine. Eventually he sighed and I felt the tension bleed from him and he bowed his head.
“He’s just talking,” I told him quietly, meaning the sheriff. “He’s made empty threats before.”
There was a flash of fury in his eyes, and he turned and gripped my shoulders. “He will not threaten you while I stand before you,” he snapped. “Do you understand me?”
“Cal….”
“Do you understand me?”
“Yes.”
He scowled at me and turned to look out the window.
We spent the rest of the day on opposite sides of the house. Cal had still been at the window as night had fallen, but I’d heard him making his nest outside my closed door right before I’d dropped off to sleep.
And now that I’m awake, in the middle of the night, Little House feels different. It feels emptier.
I move from my bed and open the door. His blanket is there. His pillow is there. He is not.
He’s not in the spare bedroom. He’s not in the bathroom. He’s not in Little House. Sunrise is still hours away, but I tell myself I have one last place to look. I open the door and climb up the ladder.
There is no one on the roof.
I will take you and yours into the black.
I slide down the ladder as quickly as I can, my heart starting to thud in my chest. He wouldn’t do that, I think. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.
But, I realize, I don’t know a damned thing about him. I don’t know what he is capable of. I grab the keys to the Ford off the table near the door. I slip on my work boots and grab my father’s coat from the rack on the wall. It smells of earth, of feathers. I shut the door behind me and head out into the night.
Poplar Street is dark as I drive through town. I pass the station as it sits silently.
No one’s out this late. Some shops have low lights that reflect in the front windows. The banner for the “Jump Into Summer Festival” glows briefly as my headlights hit it, but then I pass under it and it is dark again. I leave the main drag behind, turning onto Old Valley Road, which winds up through the hills that surround Roseland. I’m trying to remain calm, but not knowing where Calliel might be is doing nothing for my nerves. I almost expect to get to the sheriff’s house and see it razed to the ground, Calliel standing above it like some dark avenging angel.
I’m a guardian, he whispers in my head. I guard.
Yes, but he also protects. And he’s found someone he’s deemed a threat. I switch off my headlights as I round the final corner, familiar enough with the
road to drive it in the dark. The house is not destroyed as part of me had anticipated, but rather is lit up, as if someone is still awake this late on a Tuesday. I pull the truck into a copse of trees off to the side of the road well away from the house, hiding it in case someone passes by.
I hurry up the side of the road, feeling slightly ridiculous at being crouched over, but I need to make sure nothing has gone horribly wrong, or at least find out what happened. I cross a ditch rather than head directly up the driveway, then cut across the yard. The lights inside are bright in the dark, but still muffled by curtains pulled across the picture windows, three cars in the driveway. One I recognize as the sheriff’s SUV. The other two I don’t know. There’s enough visibility for me to see a floodlight attached to the front of the house. I go toward the rear in a wide arc to avoid setting the light off. There’s another light on in the house at the back. The ground around the house drops off. There must be a cellar, a rarity in Oregon. The light at the back is coming from a window just overhead that I can’t see into, but it’s propped halfway open. I smell cigarette smoke.
Then I hear voices.
“I told you to blow that shit outside,” Griggs rumbles. “I don’t know why you
gotta smoke inside my house.”
“What can I say,” a male voice I don’t recognize says, “it’s an addiction.” Laughter. Several voices. All male.
“I don’t care,” Griggs says. “Blow it out the window.”
“Someone’s in a mood tonight,” another man says. “This has really got you
spooked. I don’t think I’ve seen you like this before. Not even when Big Ed—” “I told you not to mention that around me,” the sheriff snaps, cutting him off.
“Look, I don’t know how much of what he said was bullshit. Nothing has come
through the police station, and the field office in Eugene and Portland said they
haven’t sent anyone out this way.”
“Would they tell you if they had?” the smoker asks. “Seems to me if they were
investigating, they wouldn’t tell you a damn thing.”
“I’ve got a guy who owed me a few favors,” Griggs says. “He called around,
checked some stuff out. Nothing.”
“We still going to move operations?”
“I don’t know yet,” Griggs says. “I don’t want to, but if someone is poking
around, we may have to.”
“What is your timeline, then?” a new voice says. That one I recognize. Mayor
Judd Walken. My mouth goes dry.
“Give it a few weeks,” Griggs says. “If need be, we could do it on the day of the
festival, when everyone is distracted. I hate to lose our position now, though. It’s
prime fucking real estate. No one even knows about it. But it’s whatever the boss
wants.”
“This whole thing has bad mojo written all over it,” the smoker complains. “First
the guy in the river. Then that fucking meteor thing falling right near there. Jesus,
Griggs! It’s like the universe is telling you to get the fuck out, and you’re saying we
need to wait?”
“Now, now,” the mayor says over the sheriff’s angry growl. “It’s just a bunch of
random occurrences. Let’s not assign this to some higher cosmic power. I’ve already
reached out to the community to assure everyone that it was just that, a meteor that
fell and that the science department at the University of Oregon has already come to
pick it up. People seem to be excited that such a thing happened in our little town.
They won’t question it.”
“That’s great and all,” Smok
er says. “Just one thing: there was no fucking
meteor.”
“Bah,” Walken says. “Semantics. That’s what it could have been regardless. It
could have just burned up upon entry and then fell apart when it landed.” “Or, it could have been one of those drones they’ve got along the Mexican
border,” Smoker says coldly. “You’ve supposedly got an FBI agent in town out of the blue, and then something falls out of the sky on the same day? I’m not a believer
in coincidence, Walken.”
“A drone, you say.” Walken laughs. “If that’s the case, it must have gone the
way of the meteor, then, wouldn’t you agree? I assume a drone would have left
debris.”
“Unless that kid got to it first,” Smoker snaps. “You were the one who saw his
truck.”
“I can’t be sure of what I saw,” Walken admits. “It looked like the Ford, but I
was in such a hurry. And besides, it didn’t look like Benjamin driving.” At hearing my name upon his lips, my blood freezes.
“It could have been that other guy,” Griggs says. “That big fucker that tried to
start shit at Little House.”
“What did you say his name was?”
“Blue. Cal Blue. Or Calliel or some shit. Supposedly from California. Still
waiting to hear back from the DMV to see if there is any record of him on file there.” Oh, Jesus. Cal. Fuck, what if he sees my thread? No. Stay away, Cal. In my fear,
I try to push Cal as far away from my thoughts as I can.
“And if there’s not?” Walken asks.
“Then obviously he’s lying,” Smoker says. “Which means he has something to
hide. And this close to a moving date, I don’t deal well with unknown variables.” “Speculation, all,” Walken says. “He’s probably just Benji’s ass buddy. Lord
knows that boy has been alone for so long. Maybe he’s just found someone to give
him attention. Big Eddie’s death was hard on him.”